CALLING YOUR BLUFF
by jennii.b
Summary: General Hawk and Sgt. Stone are about to tangle over the Joes newest recruit...
1. Chapter 1Personal Phone Calls

To say Hawk was surprised that the caller interrupting his meeting was his daughter was an understatement.

To say shocked wouldn't have begun to cover it and confused was a laughable description.

But he took the call. To his credit.

"This is Hawk," he said hesitantly. "What's this about?"

"My mother was killed in a car accident. I need a signature on a form. Give me a fax number and I'll get out of your hair."

The caller sounded young. Female. Pissed at the world.

"Who are you trying to reach?"

"Are you James Hawk, date of birth…?"

"Yes. And you would be...?"

"Your worst nightmare. My mother was married to you when I was conceived."

Hawk had only been married the one time and it had been an unqualified disaster. He didn't like the restrictions, she had resented the frequent and unanticipated abandonment. Not to mention that she hadn't batted her eyelashes at filling in the lonely hours of their separations.

"Muriel?"

"Try again. And maybe click your heels."

"What?!"

"'The witch is dead'? I'm Muriel's daughter. Elizabeth Grace." There was a pause. "Hawk. You're on my birth certificate. Child's services found you-see if you could get to a notary public and send back the forms via courier."

Hawk took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was very aware of the people passing by the desk upon which sat the phone. And his voice was dangerously quiet when he spoke again. "I. Do not. Under. Stand."

Lizibeth shrugged across an ocean and most of another continent. "I am begging you...give me a number, sign where they put the little x's, and let's just pretend that none of this ever happened. I want to be free of the whole mess and you're my only stumbling block."

"Are you saying that you're my child?" he asked.

"No. My mother said it. But seeing as how you walked out on her about the time I would have been conceived I just don't know. And I don't care, because yours is the name she used. So it's very important that we focus on the bigger issue and keep the details from muddying things. You won't be liable for any back child support-I checked. Signing the form for me to enlist makes you responsible for absolutely nothing. It simply uncomplicates life for us both."

"How old are you?" he choked.

"Seventeen. How old are you?"

"Old enough not to sign things I haven't read."

"You're forty-seven for another month. I've read the forms and you can trust that my intellect is up there with the very brightest crayons in the box."

"You want to enlist early?"

"I do. But I need a guardian to sign the form to make me an emancipated minor. Mom wouldn't do it just to screw with me. But she's dead and gone now and I'm burying her Tuesday so if we could just move things along here..."

"You're all on your own? Where are you? Do you have grandparents or somebody you can call?"

He heard the long-suffering sigh on the other line. Her voice was reasonable when she spoke again. "I'm not trying to be difficult," she told him. Elizabeth Grace. That's what she'd said her name was. Elizabeth Grace Hawk. "I am a nice person trying to move past a disastrous childhood. I have no grandparents. If you were married to my mom you should know her folks are dead. And, seeing as how the state had to pull my birth certificate to try to locate next of kin, I don't know if you have parents or not." Her voice took a turn towards hysteria. "I AM STUCK HERE IN THIS ASSININE SYSTEM UNTIL SOMEONE SPRINGS ME! WHERE CAN I SEND THE FRIGGING PAPERS?"

"I don't," he said apologetically. "If you'll let me talk to your case worker I'll be on the next flight out. But I'm in Africa, so it's going to take some time."

Lizibeth took the phone from her ear and banged it on the table top. "Are you listening to me?" she asked when she rejoined the conversation. "I don't want you to come. I don't want you here. I want to get out of here and you are holding the key to my freedom. I'm not going to turn tricks. I'm not going to join the circus. I am asking you to sign a form that's already filled out so that I can go to boot camp. Are we clear here?"

"Elizabeth Grace? Why are you being so hostile to me? I think I'm as much the victim here as you."

"You walked out on my mother! No! You kicked her out! You told her to pack up her stuff and be gone before you got back!"

"I signed up for fidelity and monogamy!" he snapped back.

"Big deal. You got your freedom-your do-over-and I want mine. You have to sign the papers!"

"I'll take a leave of absence and you can finish high school where you are. Then we'll talk military versus college."

Her growl made him chuckle. "I don't need to finish high school-"

"Everybody needs to finish high school," he interrupted.

"I can pass the GED as soon as you sign off on me joining up."

"What about college?"

"I have 23 credit hours right now. I've juggled work and school just fine up until now. I don't see it being a problem if I enlist. Plus the Army pays for it. Win-win."

"You said your mother knew about this?"

"I've been begging since my birthday. So far she's set fire to one application, flushed one, ripped one into confetti, and dumped one in a saucepot."

Hawk was silent. It lingered and his stomach cramped painfully. "Elizabeth Grace...I left your mother. I didn't even know about you."

"It's fine. Just get me out of here."

He nodded, his throat tight. "Fine," he finally managed. "Send me the forms."

Lizibeth passed off the phone to the social worker lurking beside her. They exchanged contact information and Hawk got the pertinent details. Before going back to his meeting he arranged for a funeral wreath and a plane ticket.

"What's the word, boss?"

Hawk shook his head. "Seems as though, about seventeen, eighteen years ago, the stork made an important delivery my ex-wife forgot to mention."

"No shit?"

"No shit."

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Sounds pissed at the world. Growing up with Muriel-I can only imagine the reasons why."

Elizabeth Grace. Hawk pondered the name as he watched her swing over mudpits and log balance beams on the obstacle course. Her mother had named her well. Her instructors were pleased with her. She lived up to her last name, too. They thought she was sharp. Observant and quick to learn. Excellent hand-eye coordination. Full of initiative and eager to follow orders. He'd gotten her high school and college transcripts as well. Nothing but A's. High A's. Competitive swimmer until high school. Majorette her freshman and sophomore years. Dropped everything her junior year to concentrate on the books.

And now she was hanging in there-and doing a superb job with it-with men and women who had years' living and maturity on her.

The DI called her 'Baby.' Hawk figured it was one of those nicknames that would stick.

"Like father like daughter?" the school's commandant beamed at him.

Hawk shook his head. "I had damn little to do with it. She's her own girl."

"Spitting image. If you took off a few inches and grew some curves and eyelashes you'd be twins."

"God help her," Hawk objected. But he liked the image. The connection. She did favor him. Hair, eyes, the full, wide lips. He saw his mother in her, too, and thought it shameful that his parents had died without knowing their granddaughter. Maybe some of his mother's strength had passed through him to her. God only knew what life growing up with Muriel had been like. No wonder she was practically breezing through basic.

"Want me to set up a meet for you, sir?" the other man asked.

Hawk shook his head. "Nah. I'd rather she not know I was checking up on her."

"I understand that, General. Girls these days..."

"No favoritism, okay?" he reaffirmed. "I want her to top out, but I absolutely want to know that she did it on her own."

"You got it. Nobody knew whose she was until you showed up at the gate. Nobody really knows now, not with your file being classified like it is."

Hawk grinned his predatory smile. "Let's keep it that way, shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2What's my next step?

Elizabeth Grace Hawk stood at parade rest in front of the steel table. The three men seated at that table took turns grilling her about her background, experience, and plans.

She wasn't exactly thrilled to be there.

She knew this wasn't SOP. She knew that the rest of her classmates were out there in the real world somewhere, getting drunk, visiting family, celebrating graduation.

Instead she'd been pulled aside as she and her buddies loaded the last of their gear and prepared to depart the barracks; she'd been told a car waited for her outside, to get her shit together and hustle.

Three _thousand_ questions later…

"You scored a 99.97 on your ASVAB…"

"Yessir."

"How'd you miss a third of a percent?" he asked.

"I misspelled my name."

One of the men in the closed observation room chuckled. The others turned to look at him but it didn't wipe the grin off his face.

"Is this funny to you, Lieutenant?"

"Nossir."

She'd maintained that stoic expression, frozen in the appropriate zone just inches above their heads. She hadn't wiggled or shifted since she'd hit the designated pose. She'd sighed a couple of times. She was a great sigher.

"You wonder why you're in here?" the ranking general at the far end of the table asked.

Finally a flicker. Before she could catch herself, those sharp cat-eyes shot over to him, then instantly returned to staring at the blank wall.

"I presented as ordered, sir," she answered tightly.

"Your performance at BASIC was second to none."

"I had a great team, sir."

That earned her some points, from the men at the table and from the officers watching unseen.

"That you did. Your class will go down in the record books. You wanna go to SERE, cupcake?"

Again an uninhibited response. Both of those well-arched brows shot straight up.

"I'm sorry, sir…SERE school?"

He nodded at her, a slow, gentle nod that she echoed.

"I'm sorry, sir. Yes, sir. But why?"

He shrugged. "Somebody's gotta go, Lieutenant. Might as well be you."

She frowned, thinking hard. "Someone from each class gets chosen? I thought those slots were for Special Operations personnel."

"That they are. You up for it?"

"What about my MOS school?"

"I hear you're never going to be a radio operator anyway. This makes sense."

Now she broke stance. Her hands came up to her hips and she jutted out her chin.

"I signed a contract."

The guy took pity on her. "It's been decided by those higher ranking than those of us here that you have a certain skill set that precludes you from being just another coffee girl. You signed up to serve, this is how you serve."

"Special Operations?"

He nodded and she signed again, pursing her lips.

"I wouldn't be able to be combat ready. It would be condemning me to a desk job somewhere. Procurement or something awful like that."

"Lieutenant?" the Sgt. Major at the other end commandeered her attention and she popped back to parade rest. "You're being asked to serve. Possibly on front lines. What are your reservations?"

"I believe that women can make major contributions to the nation's defense. I believe that there are places where it makes more sense to have a man."

"You're going to explain that, right?"  
She shrugged one shoulder, her smile tight. "It just is. From little things like carrying shampoo and conditioner and how we go to the bathroom to huge issues like unit integrity and potential capture risks."

"Start small, Baby Hawk," she was ordered.

"Yes, sir." She looked up at the mirrored window. She wasn't sure if she hoped her father found out about this assignment or if she hoped he wasn't keeping tabs on her. "My examples began with hygiene. In special ops units most of the guys wear their hair really short. It takes two seconds to rub the bar of soap over their heads when they're showering. Same bar of soap or bottle of body wash. No frills, no extra junk. Again-for the most part. None of this is written in stone. You asked my opinion, right, sirs?"

There were a couple of tight nods. "And now we're hoping you can back it up with something substantial."

"Yes, sir. I also mentioned restroom patterns. It takes ten seconds for a guy to undo a couple of buttons, use the head, and be on his way again. Women are a bit more complicated; even if they felt comfortable it takes longer and is more disruptive to have to squat. And God forbid it's that time of the month when you're out on maneuvers. There are real-world situations where you can't say 'Ooops, I'll be right back,' or something like that. It's a pain in the ass, trust me."  
"But not insurmountable."

"No, sir. Nothing's insurmountable. It is disruptive and potentially embarrassing, though. Take it from someone who's just lived it. There is no amount of preparation that doesn't leave you crossing your fingers. Plus it becomes a supply problem. Do you constantly tote this stuff around with you-and if so what do you leave out of your rucksack?-or do you wait and see and then call for a drop if you're in the field when you start? Logistically it adds another headache where men don't have one."

"Sell me on your big reasons," a one-star told her.

"American men are still not in a place where they're able to stand by and watch a woman take abuse without doing everything in their power to stop it." She took a deep breath. "If a woman is captured with a group of men the opposing force has a huge psychological advantage over those men that requires very little imagination."

"Rape her as an incentive for the men to talk."

"Doesn't even have to go that far. A smart interrogator uses his fists on her face maybe, causes her some pain. Guys don't want their girls to get beat up. They'll step in. Take it a step farther: threaten to cut up her face, put some scars on her body-doesn't have to be anywhere major-and they talk. A guy gets hit and his partner, his buddy thinks 'jeeze, sucks to be you,' or something along those lines. A girl goes in with them and they get territorial and protective." She tapped one finger silently on the arm of the chair. "Territorial hits on the next problem, too. Women can cause huge dissention if they sleep around, or if they're teases. Small units especially are vulnerable. There are only so many special ops billets. To be successful you're going to have to watch social behavior."

"In case you hadn't noticed, corporal, there are safeguards for that already in place."

"They don't stop guys from competing for a girl's attentions or from feeling jealous. Bar fights can't be news to you guys. If you put a woman in close proximity with a group of guys she's going to have her buddies. And if she doesn't handle it right there'll be resentments as well. Then bring in her partners-a copilot or team members. If they have wives their wives or girlfriends hear these names over and over and over. If it's Top and Freddie and Joe it's okay. Throw in Susie or Jane a few times too often and there's jealousy. We can't help it any more than you can. It's visceral." The full-bird colonel in the middle was shaking his head. "I think the worst problem would be PR. Too many women came back from the first Gulf War screaming sexual harassment. Somebody scratched himself in front of her, made an off-color joke, or pinned up a poster. Somebody slapped her on the ass or hit on her or told her she smelled nice. And she's screaming on the front page of the New York Times. So the Army's gotta respond. Big investigation. Lots of press coverage. Cover your ass becomes the main goal. But somebody's gotta pay. Even if the inquiry results in a dismissal somebody's name got smeared. And too many careers can't recover from that kind of ugliness."

"You don't believe sexual harassment happens?"

She shrugged and frowned. "Of course it does. And I'm a firm believer in equality and respect. But for God's sake. If a woman signs on to share a locker room with a bunch of men she shouldn't hold them to a higher standard. Every woman on earth should realize what they're walking into when they get involved in any male-dominated field. It's unfair to fault someone for being what they are. And if they'll cut some slack then they've got a good place to work from if something truly offensive happens, something worth talking about."

The one-star laughed. He leaned forward and folded his hands together. "You've just given our case for keeping you out. Do you want to be in this session?"

"More than you could ever know."

"Make sure my aide knows how to get in touch with you this afternoon," the general said.

"Yes, sir." She stood at attention. "Thank you, sirs."

"Thank you. And good luck."

She marched out of the room to slump against the wall in the hallway. Her father, watching from the other side of the glass, continued to monitor the conversation. A light was turned on and the men pivoted so that they could see the ones on the other side of the mirror.

"What do you think?" the general asked.

"She's a Hawk…"


	3. Chapter 3Suggestions

Hawk wasn't crazy about the idea of Sgt. Stone taking his daughter out for some recon study. But the fact was that Lizibeth needed the training and Brand was the best there was. Bar none.

So what was he supposed to do?

"Two set-ups," Stone told Scarlett. "We'll do some harmless recon of the India site first, then swing by the embassy thing at the end of the week. You got IDs and stuff for us, Breaker?"

"You can pick them up at the Hilton in New Delhi on your way back in."

"I'll have something suitable for you to wear. Does your tux need altered or anything?" Scarlett asked.

Stone shook his head. "I haven't sprouted in years. It should still be in the cleaner's bag from last time."

"You have some real targets, here, teach, you know that, right?" Hawk asked-unnecessarily.

Brandon Stone leveled him with a hard stare. A questioning stare. "It doesn't make much sense to have operatives who can only hold up in fake-outs. You gotta get their feet wet and the time to do that is when there's not much at stake and the chances of ending up in a body bag are real small. This gives her two real-world scenarios to play out from the safety of our net before she even has to consider doing something on her own. The cards at the temple site need to be changed and the increased truck traffic warrants a personal appraisal. Somebody would be going out anyway. And the embassy will be fun. Fru-fru, which women like, but absolutely necessary. We won't be the only team there."

Hawk nodded. He knew it. He understood the rationale. He just wasn't sure he was ready for his daughter to spread her wings where he wasn't there to observe, comment, and approve. Because by and large he did approve. Heartily.

Scarlett grinned at him. "It's graduation day, General. We're not sending her out to the bush. She'll be with Brand the whole time."

"Besides," Breaker laughed. "If the government scumbags are supposed to show at this UN function than half the people attending will be agents. She'll be surrounded."

"_That's_ reassuring," Hawk muttered. He knocked both fists on the other man's. "Do it. Do it right and don't take it easy on her because she's my kid. I want to know her strengths, her weaknesses, what makes her buggy, and what false incentives she takes."

"Will do, General." Stone left it completely to interpretation that any special privileges she got out of the exercise were far less likely to be because of her parentage than the fact that he couldn't think straight around her. He was acting like a teenaged boy, for God's sake!

The next night Stone watched water drip off the camera mounts overlooking a road that should have been rarely used and overgrown. Instead it showed signs of recent and frequent egress. The hard copy memory sticks for the series of motion- and heat-activated imaging devices were dry-wrapped and tucked safely inside his breast pocket. Away from the monsoon-strength rain the area was getting. Out of season, of course, or he'd never have volunteered for this particular jaunt.

Lizibeth's teeth clicked twice as she signaled to him. Stone tried to locate what had caught her attention based on her field of vision. Since she was covered in a poncho and a camouflaged thermal sheet it was virtually impossible. J.O.E. had the best gear. Sometimes it was a burden to deal with it.

"Check out those bushes," she murmured so softly that the thin material didn't even move. Stone looked, then he looked again.

"Cute," he whispered.

A baby tiger was wrestling with a thick trailing vine. The vine wended its way down the building's crumbling walls and through a flowering bush whose petals had all been driven off by the heavy rainfall.

"Okay, so other than Simba there, what have we got?"

Lizibeth bit her lip and turned to look at him. "I think we've got an excellent case for moving a satellite. Obviously this road is being used. Just as obviously nothing's showing up on thermal scans. Some below-ground resolution imaging might help us decide if there's something going on in that temple without sticking our heads in and yelling 'boo!' at the top of our lungs."

"Which isn't an option anyway, because our mandate is..."

"Observe and collate data and replace/restock in-place cameras."

"You got it, little one."

Lizibeth smiled at him. She was actually enjoying herself. She rarely got to spend so much time in quiet solitude-being with Stone just seemed like an extension of the world-and she wasn't overly uncomfortable. She'd found a nice tree trunk. Her bug dope was working. The ration bars they'd packed in weren't going to take home any taste test awards, but they did the trick, nurturing their bodies with only what they needed, no waste. She had waterproof boots and a jumpsuit designed specifically for agents in the field. Life was good.

Plus there was the tiger cub. And the butterflies who'd come out to dance briefly that afternoon. And even now a little white frog was hopping closer to inspect the new terrain with its unusual scent.

Stone pulled out a personal camera and snapped two pictures of the tiger in the bushes. Mama was around somewhere, but unless they made sudden moves or took off their gear she probably wouldn't scent them or mark them as a threat. Then he turned, snapping an image of a grinning Lizibeth.

"Is Lizibeth what your mother called you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nope. It started in second grade. I had a teacher who shortened it. Her voice was so soft, so quiet. She was one of those people who made you feel like they had all the time in the world for only you. One of those hands-on teachers who sat beside you during handwriting and played ball with us at P.E. But anyway, she's the one who started it. And it kind of stuck."

"What did she call you?"

"My mother? Nothing good."

"Ever?"

"Elizabeth. Not Elizabeth Grace, the way my dad does. She made it sharp. Disapproving. When she was drunk or sick or wanted sympathy I was always Bethy. I really, really hate that name."

"What about Liz?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Nobody's ever really tried it on for size. I was always Elizabeth or Lizzie Beth or Lizibeth. And everyone calls you Stone. Do you get tired of it?"

Stone considered. "It's what I'm used to. It's almost like faking people out when I go home and little old ladies on the street call me Brandon. Or Brand, mostly. We've all got family tree names. Nothing recent, all relatives from the turn of the century. To keep things interesting according to my mom."

"She calls you Brand?"

"Nah. She calls us by our branches now. I'm J.O.E., Stephen is Marine, Fitz is Spy, and Greger is Doc."

"Some family?"

"Some family. Fitz is with the CIA and Greger is a heart specialist who leads the nation in successful valve repairs and transplants. She's proud as hell."

Lizibeth was quiet for a long time.

Stone let the silence go on for several minutes. "She'd like you, I think," he told the younger woman. "Tough. Gutsy. Determined."

"All pretty ways of saying stubborn?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "My mother likes strong-willed people. She'd like your sweetness and your honesty, too. Your self-concept. And your adaptability. She raises thousands of dollars a year for the humane society but won't donate a cent to homeless shelters or soup kitchens. She doesn't believe in victims. Says there are too many programs available for people to need so many of 'em."

"Opinionated."

"But open-minded in her way. She wouldn't hold it against you if you disagreed. She'd just click her tongue a little and move on to the next thing."

"Remind me to write her a check. I agree completely."


	4. Chapter 4Getting There's Half the Fun

If he got caught, Stone was going to lose his job. And his life. But he couldn't seem to stop himself.

A soft sound escaped Lizibeth's throat, which just made the want worse.

When he couldn't and he damn well knew it.

Which, in turn, just made the want worse. So when she sighed and moved up against him again he groaned. He hadn't had to make due with just making out with a girl since...well, since he was this girl's age. So he was not only going to get fired, he was probably going to hell, too.

"_Brand_," she purred.

"I know, baby..." he murmured back. Her hand slid from beneath the sleeve of his washed-soft steel grey t shirt and started working the cotton free of his waistband. When the soft, slim hand settled at the fasteners of his trousers he caught it with his own and shook his head. "We can't, baby," he reminded her.

Lizibeth shook her head at him and pulled back ever so slightly so that he could fully appreciate her pout.

Only she would have called it frowning.

He couldn't help that her most ferocious face made him want to bite into her lower lip. He slid both hands into all that soft hair and frame her face before lowering his mouth to give her a series of quick, light kisses before he gave way to laughter.

It hurt to laugh.

"It's just a couple of weeks," she argued as he rested his brow against hers. Stone expected any minute to overheat and implode. The woman in his arms was still speaking so he tuned back in. "...It won't make a difference."

"Yes, it does," he insisted. For one thing, the three weeks under discussion would get him from the sure-to-go-to-jail category into the fucked-anyway-legal-age-or-not category.

"In biblical times it would be expected that I would already be married and producing children while still maintaining my place in the community and home."

"That's called progress. And I'm going to fall back on what my mother used to say. It's not the age, it's the miles."

"In which case I became an adult shortly after I became tall enough to bring my mom another beer," Elizabeth argued.

Stone had no argument for that. Life certainly hadn't been easy for her. She'd breezed through BASIC and her MOS school and SERE training because of her upbringing. Which didn't really say much for her mother. Stone almost resented that the woman was already dead. He'd have liked to have killed her himself.

Which was another moot point, because if the woman had still been living when the general had found out about Elizabeth Grace's very existence, let alone the circumstances under which she'd had to raise herself the woman would have died slowly and painfully out in the desert.

So Stone did what any hot-blooded American male would do when confronted with a woman who was not yet of legal age.

He kept his pants firmly buttoned up.

And cursed the unanticipated return to high school's social conduct rules and mores.

The next day Hawk caught him as he oversaw training of two recruits with electric batons.

"Follow me," he ordered.

Brand's life was a limbo between wanting to please the man who'd accepted him into the unit when he had been very young himself and trying to avoid the man like the plague. It was hard to look a guy in the eyes when you wanted to take his daughter to bed.

Hawk turned and paced, his hands braced on his hips as he stared back at the guys who were still going at each other with the sticks.

"They're shaping up," Stone assured him. "The batons take some getting used to so you don't accidentally fry somebody or-worse-turn it off in the middle of a fight."

Hawk shook his head and spun around so that he faced the younger man. "You want to tell me what the hell you're doing with Elizabeth Grace?" he asked bluntly.

The moment of truth. Stone was totally unprepared.

What came out of his mouth was simply what came into his head. Uncensored. It was like an out-of-body experience as he heard his own voice herald his imminent death.

"Waiting until she turns eighteen so I can marry 'er," he snapped.

The general's nostrils flared and his eyes widened. Stone took a step back.

"Is that so?"

"I...I...She's special, sir. She's not like other..."

"That's right, Sergeant. She's not like _anybody_ else. For one thing, she's mine and I just got her. For another, her lifestyle up til now hasn't been anything like normal, so her outlook is somewhat altered. What the hell are you thinking putting that much pressure on her right out of the gate? Don't you want her to _live_? To fully _experience_ life and all it has to offer? What the hell are you thinking? Never mind. I know what you're thinking. You're not. Or it wouldn't have gotten this far."

"It was unavoidable that it progress this far," Brand argued, coming to a stance close to attention. "She's not a little girl. I'm sorry you missed that. More sorry than you'll ever know. But the facts stand and she's more woman than child. Able to think for herself and emotionally mature beyond her years. I won't be the next one to rip the rug out from under her. I want her-forever-as badly as she wants me. Your daughter or not, I won't let her slip through my fingers."

"Please," Hawk sneered. "She's seventeen. How many girls did you have a crush on at that age? How many did you fantasize about only to grow up a little bit more and see life more clearly? You need to back off and give her the same chance. Just because you're the first one she fell in love with doesn't make you the one. She needs someone more her age, someone more attuned to her temperament."

"No offense, sir, but how do you know she hasn't already marked those off her checklist. And I think, being a bit older, I'm more understanding and better able to deal with and help her deal with any emotional fallout from the way that she was raised."

"Really? Because I think sleeping my seventeen-year-old daughter is sick. What the hell are you thinking?"

Brand swallowed. _No shit,_ he thought. Aloud he said, "I'm not sleeping with her. Yet. It's coming-probably sooner rather than later. But we'll take the necessary precautions so that she doesn't end up pregnant just yet. I want her to be completely comfortable with herself and her career choices before we take any steps in that direction." He shrugged. Go-for-broke honesty time. "And I just want her to grow up a little more. I don't know what conditions were like in her mother's house. She doesn't seem undernourished, but there's no harm in giving her body more time to prepare for that kind of strain. She may or may not decide she wants them in the long run."

"But you want them?"

Stone shrugged. Yeah, he'd always thought he wanted kids. But he wanted this life partner beside him more. And what they did for a living wasn't conducive to raising a family.

"I'm willing to let it ride for a while. I won't rush her into something she may regret."

"Oh, but you're planning to stake your claim as soon as she turns eighteen," Hawk scoffed.

The younger man crossed his arms and took a more relaxed state. "I do. I've got the ring in my footlocker." There was a pause before he continued. "General, I suggested that if you have a problem with your daughter's behavior, if you feel the need to counsel _her_ on her personal decisions that you take it up with _her_. One of Lizibeth's great charms is her brain, which in no way resembles that of a mere seventeen-year-old."

"You're dismissed," the man spat out. He nearly spat on the ground as the kid passed. What the hell was Elizabeth thinking shackling herself up as soon as she'd gotten her freedom?


End file.
